02 April, 2007

Breaking Stories

...You say smile I say cheese/ Cartier I say please/ Income tax I say Jesus/ I don't wanna be a candidate / For Vietnam or Watergate....

I recently finished Stephen King's Cell, which, for Stephen King, was somewhat sub-standard. It reminded me a bit of The Stand, and I felt as though the characters were shallow. However, I do love King's ability to take something innocuous and turn it into an object of horror. Snarling dog? Check. Poster of Rita Hayworth? Check. Pet graveyard? Check. High school prom? Check. Still, reading sub-par King provides better entertainment than reading the top-notch efforts of many other current fiction authors. Good ones, such as Orson Scott Card, CJ Cherryh and Christopher Moore don't write quickly enough to satisfy me.

Here's a puzzle: Is this art?

(from my NetZero homepage.)

I am wending my way through David Frost's I Gave Them A Sword, which is a behind-the scenes account of the famous Frost/Nixon interviews. These interviews have been made into a successful stage show, which played to sold-out crowds in West End, and is now coming to the Jacobs Theater on Broadway. Ron Howard has already secured the movie rights. Keep me away? Not likely.

I Gave Them A Sword has the honor of being the most hook-y Watergate read I've picked up since Tony Ulasewicz's The President's Private Eye. Now, Tony, by all accounts, was quite the character during the hearings, and his voice was nicely preserved with the help of Stuart McKeever, and so this was an entertaining read in a way that John Dean's Blind Ambition was not.

Maureen Dean's book, Mo, was an annoying piece of fluff, and Judge Sirica's book, while well-written, was not terribly engaging. I picked up Jim McCord's OOP book, A Piece Of Tape, (great title) from Half.com at a real bargain. (I think I got it for under fifty bucks, while dealers who knew what they had were selling it at over $100.00.) After repeated attempts at reading it, I've given up for the time being.

Liddy's Will was fun, if you can laugh at the G-Man's pompous, bombastic style, but I did wonder how much factual information was included. Tricia's book on Pat, again, not bad, but again, not engaging. And okay, yes, All The President's Men was a compelling read, partly because of its immediacy and intimate involvement, but the readablity was Bernstein's doing, I'm convinced, since I haven't made it through a single one of Woodward's solo offerings.

Silent Coup, by Len Colodny, was a dense piece of highly-contested propaganda, but it had a great bibliography, which led me to the incredibly fun- and questionable- Secret Agenda, by Jim Hougan. [Aside: Oliver Stone's film, Nixon is wonderful to watch, but hardly a documentary or even dramatization. 'Heavily slanted' is what I'll call it, for lack of something stronger.]

I Gave Them A Sword , writing-wise, leaves all my Watergate reads in the dust.

...we would make annual requests for the President to appear on the program. The annual White House response had an almost ritual quality to it. It would be signed by Mr. Nixon's press secretary, Ronald Ziegler. Always Ziegler would begin by saying, "I accept your invitation for the President to appear on a show with you." And, always, after "accepting" the invitation, Ziegler would state that the question of if and when to actually make the appearnace on the show would be taken up with the President, with further information to be provided should Mr. Nixon actually agreee to be interviewed.

This touching little habit of accepting pieces of paper on which invitations were written without responding affirmatively to the invitations themselves, I came to accept as wholly innocent indications of Ziegler's ability to render the English language inoperative, even in matters not involving alleged presidential culpability.


I'm not saying you should run out and get this book from the dusty shelf of your local used bookstore. I'm not saying you need to bid on one from eBay, that massive commercial monster who seduces me on a near-daily basis. I'm not saying you should ever read David Frost, watch the interviews, or hear his name ever again. As you know, I'm not so big on 'shoulds.'

But that's some damned fine writing. That's what I'm saying.


I think I know a bunch of kids who (once I forward this link) will clamor to adopt a new religion.

(Thank you to Wil Wheaton.)

I picked up a copy of Stumbling on Happiness, by "renowned Harvard psychologist" Daniel Gilbert(so says the cover flap) because the front cover said this:

"If you have even the slightest curiosity about the human condition, you ought to read it. Trust me."


Usually, I do not find the words 'trust me' remotely reassuring, unlike the words Don't Panic, which always make me smile. In fact, 'trust me' often raises the same kind of red flag that 'you've got to believe me!' does, the red flag of dishonesty, deception, and overacting.

The quote, however, was attributed to Malcolm Gladwell, which changes everything.

And an update: gallery turns chickenshit; no surprise there, really. Exactly where does the Christian doctrine endorse death threats?

Finally, something so silly it stretches credibility.

Find out your peculiar aristocratic title.

This premise is so absurd that it of necessity must become a theme for an upcoming event.




(Bicycle Race; Queen)

30 March, 2007

Dorkiness Mitigated

...We went to the Phillie Pizza Company/ And ordered some hot tea/ The waitress said "Well no/ We only have it iced"/ So we jumped up on the table/ And shouted "anarchy"....

(Or, How To Go On Your First Date.)

1. Meet people of the gender you prefer.

2. Work on mutual projects once or twice.

She sits on the sofa, squashed between the arm and a cute blonde girl, who is squashed between a brunette and her own mother. He approaches, sits on the arm of the sofa.


3. Make sure your mother knows who you like.

4. Make sure your mother likes the other kid's mother.

She turns her face up to look at him, and says, "Hey! We should see a movie sometime!"


5. Casually say, "we should see a movie sometime," in the hearing of at least one of the mothers.

"TMNT?" he responds. "Totally!" she agrees, holding out a fist. He bumps it with his own fist in a gesture that Michael assures us is known as a "dap."


6. Hope that the mothers will take the hint.

I look at the brunette's mother and we waggle eyebrows at one another. We coordinate our calanders in the kitchen a short time later.


7. Rejoyce and have a fabulous time when they come through.



(Punk Rock Girl; Dead Milkmen)

28 March, 2007

Wet Dream

...rocket through the wilderness/ Around the world the trip begins with a kiss....


Sun pours into my open convertible, and music streams from the cassette deck. The gorgeous blonde beside me turns and squeezes my hand as she sings along, smiling. I smile and squeeze back.

I am dreaming. I close my eyes.

I open them again. Still dreaming. Life is wonderful.



(Roam; B52s)

25 March, 2007

Retro Bubblegum

...I like/ where we are/ when we drive/ in your car/ I like/ where we are/ here....



Enough with heavy stuff. Judging by the stultifying silence, this sort of post will happen again, oh, probably never.

Fortunately, I do have a stash of emergency fluff for occasions such as this.

Depeche Mode plus Soft Cell plus The Human League plus Cure plus Adam Ant and multiplier/reverb with a pinch of Queen and a dash of Styxx equals my favorite new album.

Excuse me, showing my years: of course I meant CD.

Those of you of a certain age will know what I'm talking about and if you have any idea what I'm talking about, well then, you'll know what I mean. I like that this band was initiated in 2001 as a recording project by a high school student creating synthesized power pop songs on his computer. Which means, ladies and gentlemen, that the PARENTS of said student were listening to the same things I liked during this kid's formative years.

Ahem.

Do NOT critique my happy upbeat danceable taste in retro-new-wave-punk-pop.

It has already been established that I am Primarily Decorative.



(Here (In Your Arms); HelloGoodbye)

Live version:

(before the stylist who floofed them up for Leno/Conan got ahold of them)



(Check out me, checking out the guns on that drummer.)

Wrong (funny) version:



In other news, DanTobinDanTobin is back in blog.

22 March, 2007

Michael's Answer

...Why do we never get an answer/ When we're knocking at the door?/ With a thousand million questions...



It seems as though it's Gift Week here in the Blogosphere: note that on Tuesday,Totsie posted some fabulouskittie porn for me. Tuesday night,Evil Science Chick(occasionally referred to as Bunsen, like the burner) revamped Random Aimee's blog AND posted pictures of a lovely pair of socks she made for Sloth, so I thought I'd create a post especially for Michael, who asked a question that doesn't have a flip and snappy answer.





Three nights. Three men. Three beverages.

Beers with the Prince were good. Margaritas with Genius were better. The Cosmos I made weren't that good, in my opinion, but I got laid that night, so maybe they were.


As you regulars know, I would ordinarily leave it at that and move on. However, because this is for Michael, and that isn't an answer, there's more.


"Look at you, sitting under that moon! You're trying to seduce me!" --Harlan Williams to Conan O'Brien on Late Night With Conan O'Brien


Hawk is an unusual specimen. Consider.

"Well, I don't know. Do you think there's some sexual tension between you?"

I stare at him a moment. This conversation should be wrong wronger and wrongest, but it's just normal for us. Lately I've begun to venture out among 'normal' people, attempting to fit in, but then I come home to what is normal for me, and everything's off kilter until I readjust.

I hadn't thought so, but anything's possible. Maybe.

"Well, how old is he?"

Oh, thirty-something, two, three, four....

"And so maybe sees you as a peer instead of falling comfortably into the role."

I shrug. My husband is asking whether there is sexual tension between me and another actor. I said that our scenes are going well, but that I think this guy is uncomfortable with me. I realize that I make people uncomfortable. It happens.

"Oh, are you kidding?" the Prince said once. "Cybbie scared the SHIT out of me when I first met her."

I find this disturbing, but let it go. Mostly. I'd like to make the other actors comfortable, but there are limits to my control. And my husband asks if there's sexual tension.

I mention the Prince.

"Oh, yeah, at first, sure there was. A LOT."

Oh. Really?

It is Hawk's turn to shrug.

"You should ask him if he feels comfortable, and if he doesn't, ask him what he thinks you should do about it."

I've been accused of putting out "signals", but since I have only the barest concept of "normal" behavior, I rarely notice. Also, I have trouble receiving these signals. A man once apologized for having made moves on me.

Ah. Had you? I hadn't noticed. When was this?

So when a man stays a little later than strictly necessary, picks lint or strings from my clothes, is this an indication of sexual interest? When I pick lint from someone's clothes, I'm just picking lint. I regularly put hands on my pals, and vice versa, with zero ambiguity. My friends cuddle me a bit, because they know I like it, and if I don't dispense hugs when I leave them, they wonder what's wrong. I lean against people I know, and occasionally kiss strangers because they've worn a T-shirt with that directive. I've been Mimi a long time. It bleeds over. My gauge is skewed. My Gaydar works great, but I can't even calibrate my Seduct-O-Meter.

I guess there could be. I hadn't thought about it. I suppose I felt that he was reserved, not demonstrative, sort of thing?

"Right, but it could be, because, you're, well, you know, you're not, I mean, you're still fairly hot."

He's sweet. He's been looking at me so long, I don't think he even sees me anymore. I do try to be something other than his old ball-and-chain of mmmlllpphffrgr years, though I hardly qualify as a trophy wife. He teases me about my "boyfriends," the Prince, BuddaPat, Genius, BirthdayBoy, Frisco, Young Evan, the Apostle, OddRob, the Animal, Martin, Hilby, and whoever Hilby brings along with him- last time, it was Karl. The time before, it was Keith the Leaf. Hawk barely bats an eye anymore when I tell him some man is staying at the house.

I forget that this is not normal.

Because it is normal at our house.

I guess I never think about that, that anybody... well. I mean, playing, sure, goofing off, but not, you know, seriously.

He smiles gently and pats my cheek. "I know you don't, honey. It just never occurs to you." He shakes his head.

As far as my posts go, their content, tone, color, style....well, he knows what my blog is for.


I think that was an answer.

Wasn't it?

(Question Song; The Moody Blues)

21 March, 2007

Serves Steve

...searchin' for my lost shaker of salt/ Some people claim that there's a woman to blame/ But I know, it's my own damn fault....


I

2 cups ice
1 cup limeade
1 cup tequila
1/2 cup triple sec
1/2 cup lime juice

*blend*


II

1 cup lime juice
1 cup tequila
1 cup triple sec
1 cup water
1 teaspoon sugar

*over ice*




(Margaritaville; Jimmy Buffett)

19 March, 2007

Hello, Geek?

...if you don't rate, just overcompensate/ At least you'll know you can always go on Ricki Lake ....


I turn from the phone to my gaggle of friends. The Animal seems the likeliest candidate.

From which season was 'I, Mudd'?

"What?"

Star Trek. 'I, Mudd.' Which season?

"Honey, I don't even know how many seasons Star Trek ran. I'm not that much of a geek."

Three seasons. DUH. Seventy-two episodes. DU-UH.

"Geek," he replies.

"What?" asks DesdemonaOne from the other end of the table.

"Why are you asking this, anyway?" the Animal wants to know.

My son just called, and he said "Hey, you know that episode where Spock says, 'I love you' to one girl and then 'but I hate you' to the other and the other says 'but I'm exactly like Whoeveritwas' and Spock says 'that's why I hate you' and the two girls go 'blelbeeeeblalbella'? What episode was that, and do we have it?" and of course that's 'I, Mudd,' and what we've got is Season One, with 'Mudd's Women', so I know it's got to be one of the other seasons, but which? I thought you'd know.

I take a breath and a sip of the Animal's beer. Mine has disappeared.

BuddaPat has gone home to rest, in order be better prepared in the morning to make the world safe for craneocracy, protecting it from the evils of forkliftism. BuddaPat would know. He's geekier than I am, at least StarTrekly.

None of the geeks at the table with me know.

"Riiight, Harry Mudd, he was on 'The Trouble With Tribbles', I remember him," says DesdemonaOne.

"Okay, I'm geeky enough to not only know the title 'The Trouble With Tribbles', but to also know who wrote it," says the Animal.

We say the name 'David Gerrold' together.

"Geek," whispers Lifter, on my right, out for the first time with my gang of freaks.

The conversation drifts into which elderly Hollywood celebrities we'd sleep with, a conversation in which 'Shatner' is used as a verb to describe men who've gone all pinkish and puffy.

I arrive home later and realize I let DesdemonaOne's gaffe slip. That wasn't Harry Mudd in 'The Trouble With Tribbles', it was another character a lot like him, by the name of Cyrano Jones.

Go on, all together now:


Geek.


(Pretty Fly (For A White Guy); Offspring)